[check out this post on my personal page, where it looks better]

I feel like I’m nearing a turning point in my life. My current contract as programmer in the public sector ends in ten days, and they can’t extend the contract for legal reasons. The moment this contract ends, they may call me to return to work as a technician, but working as a technician, the massive stress it causes me, which is unmanageable for me, has sent me to the ER three times (two with arrhythmia, another with a supposed hemiplegic migraine which I suspect may have been a minor stroke).

Honestly, I’m scared of returning to that routine, of not knowing what bullshit I’ll have to deal with every day, of having to pursue other coworkers or “users” to glean the necessary information to do my job, to deal with annoying nurses and arrogant doctors whom I’d rather ignore or punch in the face. I’ve become so adverse to that job, that these past few months I’ve grown incapable of looking at other coworkers in the eye. I don’t actually have to work with them, which is ideal, but they’re constantly around, and I’m an island of quiet among them, uncommunicative, isolated with his noise-canceling headphones on, wishing that nobody notices he’s there.

I’m getting increasingly anxious as the final day of my contract approaches. I imagine myself refusing the contract, then looking up jobs as a programmer. I don’t actually want to work as a programmer for other people, but that’s a skill I have and through which I could extract money. However, back in my twenties, I tried to work in the private sector as a programmer. About half of it, it feels, I worked as an unpaid intern, and all the jobs I had either ended because I couldn’t take it anymore (after my very first job, I almost killed myself, which years later spawned my novel My Own Desert Places), or because some woman in a non-technical position believed I wouldn’t fit in there. And yes, I specified the gender, because that was always the case: my male technical-minded coworkers didn’t have an issue with me nor the work that I did, but some female supervisor considered that all my technical contributions were irrelevant. What such people were doing leading teams of technicians is one of the disasters of the modern world.

I made the mistake of talking to my seventy-year-old mother about it. My father is technically around, but his brain is so fucked that for my entire life he may as well have not been. My mother said I need a therapist to control my stress. She barely remembers that I went to therapy from 16 to 30, with breaks in between, and it did fuck-all other than waste money and cause me permanent damage with wrong medications. I think the whole industry is a sham. The work as a technician causes me unmanageable stress because my brain configuration can’t manage that stress. No amount of “techniques” to manage stress that some therapist could teach me would help. I already control myself by swatting away intrusive thoughts every ten minutes. I’m simply not built for such a job. You don’t put a blind person directing traffic. An autistic fuck like me whose brain is incapable of handing social relationships shouldn’t be in a job that demands him to deal with so many people on the daily.

It’s more than the change of jobs, though. I simply want to escape. I’ve been looking up apartments in another province (Navarre). 120,000€ for a two bedroom apartment. Same kind of apartment would cost about 240,000€ up here. I’d love to live in such small towns. Vastly reduced criminality, lack of mass immigration, nature close by. It’s so fucking humiliating to leave my home at six in the morning and have to walk through an area colonized by arabs, then take the bus, half of whose commuters are foreigners, up to the other bus stop, and along the way see that the people exiting the downtown apartments, the priciest locations, are inexplicably Africans who look like they came here a year ago (I’m counting both North and Sub-Saharan). House prices go up about 9% every year. Who’s paying for it?

I have a nasty anecdote on the subject from back when I bothered to attend writing courses, about ten years ago: I was waiting in the streets for a class to start while a black guy, heavy African accent, was talking to some local about the apartment where the black guy was going to live. It seemed like the local had guided him to show it. The African pointed at the blinds in the window and said, “Of course, they give me the one with the worst blinds. That’s racism.” They gave this son of a bitch an apartment, which the locals need to pay in full, and this fucking parasite complains. One humiliation after another. Losing your spaces, your jobs, your homes, your schools… And I’m not even getting into crime. My own home was nearly broken into by a couple of arabs some years ago. And look at Great Britain with the mass rapes of minors, almost always ethnic European, by the usual suspects. But God forbid you tweet something unsavory about men in women’s clothing; the police will be on your ass the moment you land in the country. Funny thing is, I take the 7:10 bus straight to Donostia, and literally everyone is ethnic European. We’re office workers. Slaves to support the privileged classes. But I work in the hospital building that houses the maternity ward, and I get reminded of who is having the majority of children these days.

By the way, if any of what I’ve written bothered you (yes, you), you’re welcome to fuck off, because if at this point you still defend any of this, I don’t want anything to do with you.

I saw a video earlier today about the Japanese youth, how they are completely unmotivated, don’t want to buy homes, don’t want to start families, are completely risk adverse, and just get by trying to survive as unbothered as possible. We’re not, unfortunately, in Japan, but same thing could be said of the last couple of generations in the West. Why are you contributing to society, exactly? So it can shit on your face and tell you to enjoy it?

What else is there to say, really? I noticed that someone, earlier in the day, went through a couple dozen of the songs I produced with AI a year or so ago. Such fun activities I used to engage in, that I don’t imagine myself retaking anymore. Perhaps writing is one of them, but it’ll fully depend on whether my subconscious flips the switch again. Basically what I’m doing, when I’m not busy programming or reading manga, is daydreaming about a better life (being someone else), or noticing discreetly the attractive ladies on the bus or on my walk to and from the office. Bitter old Houellebecq said, “The physical bodies of young people, the only desirable possession the world has ever produced, were reserved for the exclusive use of the young, and the fate of the old was to work and to suffer.” While he likely meant that he wanted to fuck children, the point stands. I have a forty year old body, so what remains is to work and suffer. And masturbate. At least you can rely on those seconds of relief from time to time. If I was funkier, I’d get into proper drugs. I’d love to do Ayahuasca, which is illegal for reasons. Likely because such drugs would make people wake up and want to topple the government. And then, who’d issue digital IDs, CBDCs, and social credit scores?

Anyway, if you have boobs, give them a squeeze for me, will you? Man-boobs will do.